


One Lonely Night

by leiascully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, First Time, X-Files OctoberFicFest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8481775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: "Why have we been lonely for so long?"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: S7  
> A/N: From a tumblr prompt.  
> Disclaimer: _The X-Files_ and all related characters are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Studios. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

She dials his number without thinking. 

“Mulder,” he mumbles, and she shivers, imagining his lips brushing her ear.

“Come over,” she says.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says, but she can hear the strain in it. “Yeah. Come over.”

She frets and fidgets counting down the minutes until she sees his headlights outside her window. When he knocks, she doesn’t move. He lets himself in and raises his eyebrows when he sees her sitting on the couch, her hands clasped around her knee to keep herself still.

“Everything okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” she says, and it sounds just as much like a lie as the first two times. Mulder frowns at her.

“Scully, if you’re sick again…” he starts.

“I’m not,” she says, cutting him off. “I’m fine, Mulder. Really, truly fine. My doctor says I’m very healthy, actually.”

“You don’t usually ask me over,” Mulder says, skepticism lingering in the unease in his voice. 

“No, I don’t,” she agrees. 

He sits down in front of her and brushes the backs of his fingers against hers. “Scully. What’s going on?”

She looks at him, unclasps her hands, leans forward, and kisses him. Her palms are planted on his thighs. Her lips are against his, their faces tilting to fit together. She had always been afraid, in some corner of her mind, that their individual distinctive noses would be incompatible, but that, she notes, was baseless. Instead, it’s all ease and sweetness, all breathless sparking joy. She pulls away just to feel the ache of it as their lips reluctantly part. 

“Scully,” Mulder says in a husky voice.

“Why,” she asks, “have we been so lonely for so long?”

He quiets under her hands. “I honestly don’t know.”

“I don’t either,” she says. 

“We had to be,” he says, but it’s tenuous, more like a question, as if he doubts it himself.

“We don’t have to be anymore,” she says, and leans forward again, halving the distance between them again and again until it’s only a whisper. She lets him kiss her this time, completing the circuit between them. 

“Scully,” he whispers. "Is this happening?“

She sits back, her hand still splayed over his chest. "Do you want to stop?”

“No,” he says immediately, and then calms himself. "No. I just want to make sure it’s what you want. I think you know I’ve wanted this for a long time.“

"I know,” she says. "I haven’t wanted it any less than you have.“

"You never said anything.” He looks a little lost. The trepidation in his eyes strikes her somewhere undefinable, maybe even in her soul.

“I thought you knew,” she says.

“I did,” he says. "And I didn’t.“

"I did too,” she tells him. "And I didn’t. You and Diana, I mean.“ She trails off, not sure what she’s trying to say.

"That was over before I met you,” he reassures her.

“Nothing is ever over with you, Mulder,” she says. "You hold on to things for so long. I admire that about you.“ 

"I love you,” he says in that husky voice that sends chills down her spine. 

They gaze at each other. She thinks of the hundreds of nights she’s spent alone in bed, talking to him on the phone. She thinks of the dates she’s tried to go on, the men she’s tried to listen to, but no one has ever been Mulder. At the moment she met him, something clicked into place, a stable configuration she hadn’t known her life had been lacking. She thinks of the number of times she’s had to keep herself from kissing him, or leaning in against the broadness of his body, or wrapping her arms around his neck and just soaking in his warmth.

“Scully?” he says, with a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

They have always been the truest example they could imagine of wave-particle duality: sometimes their minds are separate, discrete, distinct, their bodies separated by the pressure of the energy between them; sometimes they are waves resonating at the same frequency, and she thinks she could reach out with his hand to lift a cup or open a file. Now she can imagine the way her body will meld against his and she knows their peaks and lulls are the same. Her breath fills the space between his ribs. His heart beats in the same accelerating rhythm as hers does.

“I love you,” she says, half-astounded by the fact that she’s actually saying it, but some moments are too precious to waste. "I need you.“

"How?” he asks, laying his hands over hers.

“I thought you had a good imagination,” she says, easing closer to him. 

“I do,” he swears. "I do.“ He leans forward, his hand rising to cup her cheek, and gently pulls her close. Their lips meet again and she’s leaning over his lap, leaning over his chest. He leans back and she’s lying on top of him, pressing herself against him. The evidence suggests that he’s happy to see her. She slides her tongue into his mouth and his lips part to welcome her as his hands shift to her back and her fingers slide up his ribs under his shirt. She has made free with his body in the past, stripped him and bandaged him, but there is a reckless abandon to her movements now. She wants him, and if he wants her too, she’ll have him, wrapped around her so that they make one continuous surface, a Moebius strip of desire, two bodies inseparable. 

"You,” he murmurs into her mouth, and the word holds so much. She can hear his wonder and his awe, his need and his longing. She feels the same, lust and love in ebb and flow, disbelief and certainty in equal measure. This is absolutely right and she never thought it would really happen. This is everything she wanted, but barely dared to dream.  
She reaches down for his hand and moves it from her hip to her breast, needing his touch. He squeezes gently, his thumb skimming her nipple through her shirt. He makes a satisfied little noise that she’s already hard for him. She imagines the sound he’ll make when he realizes she’s wet for him too and shivers on top of him. He tangles his other hand through her hair and deepens their kiss. They’re devouring each other, breathless, as if they’ve never kissed anyone else before. She wonders if she’s saved up the last decade of need for him, aside from the few moments of wishful thinking with Ethan and Daniel and Ed. Her tongue is insistent against his and he answers her with the same intensity. She scrapes her nails over his ribs. He hisses with pleasure and it makes the back of her neck prickle with wanting him.

She rolls off him suddenly and stands looking at him, splayed over her couch and looking so wantonly mussed that it’s a struggle for her not to straddle him again. She holds out her hand and pulls him up. It’s a surprise to both of them that she’s sturdy enough to counterbalance him. He bends his head and kisses her again.

“You all right?” he asks, his voice so low it’s barely audible, but she’s always been able to hear him.

“Our first time can’t be on my couch,” she whispers back. She laces her fingers through his. She’s touched his hands so many times. She’s never felt this voltage of electricity running through their joined palms. She’s tingling from head to toe. The couch looks inviting, honestly. The longer they stand here, the more she wants to topple back down onto the overstuffed cushions.

“How about our fifth or sixth time?” he murmurs.

“Bring over some beer and a movie and we’ll see what happens,” she tells him, leading him down the hall. She hasn’t even made it to the door before she’s got her hands under his shirt again,  
pushing it up over the breadth of his chest. He lifts his arms and lets her tug the shirt over his head. She drops it on the floor and walks a few steps backward as he carefully skims her sweater off. He leans in to kiss her, pressing her against the door frame and undoing her bra at the same time. She isn’t sure how they get each other’s pants off, but the more of her skin that’s flush against his, the better she feels. The harder she presses against him, the more the ache in her heart and her bones and her soul eases. 

He startles her by scooping her off her feet and kissing her before laying her gently on the bed. They stretch out against each other, hands everywhere, lips everywhere. He caresses her breasts and brushes his fingertips over her scars. She kisses the livid mark on his shoulder where her bullet went through. He growls playfully at her and tugs at her skin with his teeth. She’s going to have hickeys; that hasn’t been true in years, and she hasn’t gloried in that kind of possessiveness for even longer. She’ll glory in these. He is marking her with constellations of need. She’ll remember them on other nights, tracing the designs his lips have made. 

They are lost in each other. She can feel the duvet crackling under them and the warmth of Mulder’s firm body. His cock is hot hard silk against her leg, against her palm, against her cheek. She lips his head briefly to hear the surprised sound he makes and savor the salt of him. She can hear both of them breathing, more and more heavily every minute, the heave of their breath shading into moans. She tastes the delicate skin on the inside of his wrist and he groans and lips at her nipple. 

“Can I?” he asks, kneeling between her legs, and she nods. She has condoms. She’s a doctor; of course she has condoms. She hasn’t used them except on occasion when she doesn’t feel like cleaning her vibrators, but she dutifully updates the box every time it hits its expiration date. They should use a condom now, she knows, split to make a membrane between his tongue and her clit, but she can’t stand the thought of anything between them. He kisses his way up her thigh and groans to himself as he licks his way between her folds.

“Goddamn,” he says reverently, and teases her clit with his tongue until she’s shaking. His hands smooth up her legs and over her belly to her breasts. She’s gasping, reaching for him, knotting her fingers in his hair because it’s all she can reach. It feels like her entire body is melting into his mouth. Her toes are curling; the long muscles in her legs are tightening; she can’t keep herself from making helpless noises of need. 

“Yes,” she says, and he chuckles against her skin, a sound so satisfied that it makes her want him all the more. Mulder’s swagger has always been one of the most attractive things about him, when it hasn’t been one of the most irritating things about him, but it turns out that when he’s going down on her, his confidence is irresistible. 

When she comes, he has to hold her down to keep her from bucking her hips into his face. 

“Jesus,” she says as he slides up next to her on the bed. She turns on her side to kiss him, tasting herself on his mouth. She pulls his lower lip into her mouth and digs her nails into his back. He rolls over and pulls her on top of him; it’s a clever move that leaves his hands free to roam her body, up and down her ribs, over her ass, between her legs. When his finger brushes her clit, she gasps. She brings her knees down on either side of his hips, straddling him, and he cups his hands over her breasts. 

Again her mind flickers to the condoms in her drawer. She can’t get pregnant and she knows his medical history intimately. Besides all of the practical concerns, she wants there to be no barriers between them, just one time, after so many years of putting up walls between themselves. He pauses, a question in his eyes, but she just bites her lip and guides him inside her. 

“Fuck,” he says, and god, she agrees. She is so full of him and it’s perfect. She shifts, balancing over him, watching his pupils dilate and contract in the low light of the lamp. She likes the way he watches her. In his eyes, she is precious but also desired, holy but also human. She rises and falls, rocking her hips, half-convinced she can feel every ridge and vein on his cock brushing exactly the right spots inside her. He groans and it’s a symphony. She touches his chest, tracing the spot above his heart. When he reaches for her breasts again, she leans back, balancing herself with her palms on his thighs. He drags his fingers from her nipples down the curves under her breasts and further down her belly to her hips. One finger finds her clit with unerring accuracy; Mulder’s exquisitely detailed memory does serve her well from time to time. She’s dizzy with wanting him, wound up again with pleasure, and he thrusts up into her with the same urgency. 

No matter what routes they take, they always get there together, she thinks. She wants him to come inside her. She wants to watch his face as he crosses the line from bliss to ecstasy. She wants to remember this moment, the night they decided not to be afraid.

When he comes, she almost cries: the love that shines out of his eyes is almost too much. He is helpless under her, his heart in her hands. She bends forward to kiss him, pouring her soul into it, and he wraps his arms around her. The pressure of him still inside her and the angle of her hips against his builds slowly until she comes, a gentle ripple that just warms her. She gasps into his mouth. He brushes her hair out of her face and gently holds it back so that he can look into her eyes. She smiles at him tentatively and he grins back. Slowly she eases herself off him and they stretch out beside each other. Mulder tugs at the duvet until he can spread it over both of them. They burrow down into the sanctuary of her bed, alight with warmth and love. She was afraid, when she was waiting for him, that she would regret calling, but she knows now that she’ll never look back on that moment and wish she’d done anything else. Every choice she’s made has led to this perfect moment. All her sins are redeemed.

“We aren’t lonely anymore,” he says, his lips against her hair.

“No, we’re not,” she agrees, her fingertips tracing circles on his chest.

“We should do this again sometime,” he says.

“I thought you had a longer refractory period than five minutes,” she teases. 

“Give me half an hour,” he says. "Take a nap. You’re going to need your energy, Scully.“

"I’m sure I will,” she says, and leans up to kiss him, and together they make more than the sum of themselves.


End file.
